Live
by artemis-nz
Summary: Perhaps the most important thing is what he did not die for. Conrad/Yuuri.


"How about some catch?"

Yuuri's face splits in a wide grin, and as usual his mood is infectious. Conrad knows he really shouldn't be encouraging him, but the king really does look like he's had enough for one day. Gunter will scold Yuuri later for it, but Conrad doesn't regret making the offer; Yuuri loves it too much, and for all the king is not lacking in intelligence, he is no scholar - he cannot sit still for too long, the restless energy bubbling up so that he needs to be active to be happy. Not unlike Wolfram in this respect, despite the one thousand other ways they are simply not compatible. A far cry from both Gunter and Gwendal, whose silence and long periods of physical inactivity serve only to chafe and frustrate the young king. Conrad's controlled exterior, however, does not seem to bother Yuuri - rather, it has the opposite effect. Thus Conrad sees it as his duty (his pleasure notwithstanding) to spend time each day with his charge, soothing and calming that restless energy into something more focused, more capable.

And Conrad sees the changes every time he looks, because his gaze sees what is very often easily missed by others: he sees a walk more sure, an expression more confident, a posture that speaks more and more of courtliness than childishness. Yuuri is not yet of age, but with each passing moment Conrad is aware that the king takes one further step towards becoming a ruler of true strength.

The scars on Conrad's naked body are testament to this, his goal which had overshadowed all else and continues to do so. He has fought all his life for the Demon Kingdom, fought without rest because even before he had ever set eyes on a boy-child named Yuuri, he knew that his own life would be dedicated to serving someone who would outshine all war with his brilliance. A king who would bring peace. Such a king who Conrad would bow to whole-heartedly; a person who Conrad would willingly give his life, heart and soul to. He found that person in Yuuri; a young, untried boy who nonetheless refused to take any lives and who prized mercy and compassion above all else. Some, like Gwendal, saw it as foolishness. Conrad called it courage. Yes, Conrad's body had wept tears of blood many times over for such a person - each scarlet droplet was given with a fierce gladness, because it had to bring him closer to finding this person.

Find him he did, and Conrad did not regret so many enemy swords spilling his blood on home soil - true, he was just a boy, untrained and undisciplined. But it was his heart that made him a true king, and no matter how handy a king was with his sword or on horseback, he was nothing without the spirit this boy carried.

Of course, he was not so optimistic all the time. It was heard - not because he begrudged spilling blood in the service of his home, but because he was forced to wonder if it was really helping. He had waited for so long, and had seen so many die... too many, and he did not keep count of how many had fallen, nor how many lives he took, nor still how many scars he earned doing such dirty work. There were some days when it was hard to get out of bed, and when he managed to get up and go automatically about his duties, it was not for himself that he did so. Julia swore that one day there would be peace for all people - peace, between humans and the Demon Tribe. Most people openly scoffed at the notion, but she had staked her life on it. And in the end, so had he. The day he had left for what he thought would be the last time, blue flowers had rained down from the heavens. He wanted to feel almost bitter. 'Conrad Stands Upon the Earth.' A more befitting name would have been Conrad falls upon the earth. Or perhaps Conrad bleeds upon the earth. But he thought of Julia, her spirit still praying and hoping and living somewhere, so that the flowers reminded him to be strong, even when he left important people behind. Even though he might die, and never set eyes on that which his life would have been laid down for. It was a test he set for himself. He was loyal, he would fight in the name of something he wasn't sure about, because it was something he still held dear even then. He _would_ die for it, and he would regain his honor.

But he did not die. In the days after that, he wished that he had. At least then he would not have carried the burden of guilt. So many dead, and she among them. Almost as if he should have died and she had chosen to die instead in his place. In the darkest of hours it had been she who had kept his hope alive. Death was no stranger to him - he took lives for a living. It was she who had reminded him that there was a purpose mixed up in all that dirt and sweat and blood and cold steel, so cold as to freeze his heart and paralyze him at night. He thought he would die from sheer cold when he came back, with nobody left to tell him that it had all been for a reason.

Yuuri never tells him that, because he is ignorant of the details. And Conrad never makes an effort to fill the king in - Yuuri has enough troubles on his young shoulders, he reasons, without telling him of those dark times. Instead, Conrad deftly switches places. Now he is no longer the one who needs reassurance, but the one who gives it. He will protect Yuuri, because the one before Yuuri had in her own way protected him, for as long as she was able. Yes, even to the end of her life she had given without restraint, her compassion for the world and all life in it overcoming her pain. She had died in the service of something greater than the mere individual, and he would do the same, should the time ever arise.

He sees that compassion again in Yuuri, the sort of spirit that he had never thought to see again. It was too much to ask for, he had thought, for a person to see that kind of spirit more than once in a lifetime. The turning of the wheel had done its work, and much of the pain had been washed away, along with the bitterness that someone from Earth had once reproached him for, refusing to let him see his son until Conrad smiled. And he did smile, and could not do anything but smile again when Yuuri finally arrived safely, if wet, for the first time in the the Demon Kingdom. All became right - he could no longer be bitter, and only looked upon the past with a vague nostalgia. His blood had had a purpose - so had hers. Along with her soul, which was well cared for in another form.

Ironically enough, in spite of Conrad pledging his life once again for a person, his blood is now rarely spilt indeed. Yuuri seems to be both accident-prone and lucky (and even now Conrad is not sure he believes in such a thing as luck) - he always seems to find himself in the worst of situations, and yet he possesses the very unique ability to find a way out of them without taking life or even blood. He finds new ways to deal with the challenges which face him, and although through Conrad's teachings he continues to improve with a sword, Yuuri has yet to kill anyone with it (and Conrad sincerely hopes he will never have to - Conrad is there also to protect a certain innocence as well as help a young boy grow). When the time comes, it will be Conrad's sword which does the killing, so that Yuuri will not have to stain his hands, or his pure soul which impresses even the likes of Gwendal, despite what the dark-haired man says.

And so his nightmares ceased, and the sun again came out to shine on the Demon Kingdom which had been clouded in Conrad's eyes for too long. The smile is back on his face, and it is put there without any need for effort on his part - Yuuri sees to that without even knowing it. For that, Conrad loves him.

"Conrad?"

He starts - his mind has been wandering.

"Yes, Your Majesty. Come, let's go outside."

"Con-_rad_. Don't call me that. Its _Yuuri_."

Conrad knows it, but he stays formal all the same, if only to hear Yuuri reproach him. It is the sign of familiarity, and to hear it come from Yuuri's own lips makes the sun all the brighter.

"Yuuri", he says obediently. "Let's go, then."

The ball whistles through the air, to be caught in a brown mitt with a satisfying thud. Perhaps he had been wrong. This is not what he would have died for - rather, this is what he lives for.

**_To my mind, better than my first ConYuu fic. But please let me know what you think._**


End file.
